


Top of the List

by santiagone



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Academy Era, F/M, What else is new, and these two fail to communicate, basically this fic is just jemma chasing after fitz, jemma is #1 fitz trash pass it on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then she sees him. Or rather, hears him. He’s a chorus of grumpy Scottish accent, lilt spilling over his words and into her heart and screaming home, home, home. </p><p>(or, five times Jemma Simmons tries to befriend Leopold Fitz, and the one time it works)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top of the List

**Author's Note:**

> I’m in love with Academy-Era FitzSimmons, so this was how this was born! Also because I think this fandom needs some adorable science bunny FitzSimmons and I’ve never written a canon origin story, so here it is! Hopefully you enjoy!!  
> Also, I’m in a horrible writing mood, so if you want to send me some prompts or even just chat to me on Tumblr, feel free to do so! (@justanotherhappyending)  
> Also wow I pick the least spooky thing to write for Halloween, go me.

_1._

 

Jemma spots him on the first day. She’s a tiny British girl in a swarm of American adults, and she feels completely out of her depth and out of her place. She tells herself that it’s okay because the Academy is a wonderful opportunity and a beneficial experience on the whole, but there’s a part of her that feels incredibly lonely as she watches all the older students slowly drift into groups, leaving bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Jemma Simmons with her fresh new folders and her neatly pressed blazer.

Then she sees him. Or rather, _hears_ him. He’s a chorus of grumpy Scottish accent, lilt spilling over his words and into her heart and screaming home, home, home.

She swivels until she can find him, eyes scanning the crowd. The muscled blonde.. no.. the mean-looking brunette.. no.. the friendly ginger in the corner.. no.. until _oh_ , there he is. He’s the scrawny one with the atrocious clothes (a couple months into their friendship, she fixes that) and unkempt hair (and that too).

He’s complaining to a senior student about something and waving his hands around in exaggeration, god, he’s must be her age or younger, and Jemma knows instantly that they’re going to be best friends.

Except, it’s a little harder than that, because when she smiles nicely at him and offers an awkward little wave, his eyes widen and he promptly takes off, leaving the senior to talk to himself.

And so that’s how it starts.

 

_2._

 

Her first attempt is on the following Tuesday, after she’s spent the better part of the morning double and triple-checking her equipment before she heads down to her first class, hair shiny and a pencil tucked into her shirt pocket for safe-keeping.

Her sneakers squeak on the floor when she enters, and she’s pleased to find she’s early, so she picks a seat right up at the front and takes her time in organising her supplies just like she did on the first day of primary school. Students start to fill in slowly, and as the volume increases she keeps her eyes peeled for that familiar Scottish boy she’d spotted the other day.

It’s not until the class is full and the Professor’s started introducing the subject that the boy makes his entrance, stumbling in from the corridor with about a million muttered apologies and worn blue jeans. He just about drops his papers in his haste and surfaces an alarming shade of red, and normally Jemma hates tardiness with a passion, but it’s kind of hard to dislike somebody when they’re bumbling around the classroom (and, of course, when they’re at the top of your ‘ _potential best friend_ ’ list), so instead she stifles her laugh behind her hand and hopes he doesn’t see.

He does see, however, because when he glances up at her, he turns a deeper shade of red (if that’s even possible), and promptly avoids her gaze as he moves to take the only seat available - which is, conveniently, the one next to hers.

He wrestles his things onto the desk and she offers him a smile. “Need any help?”

“No,” he says quickly, and she’s forced to turn her attention back to the Professor, half stung by his rejection and half amused as she watches him out of the corner of her eye.

Still, she’s not disappointed for too long, because SHIELD History is rather fascinating, and soon she’s scribbling notes into her notepad with wide-eyed wonder.

(and it’s almost a pity, because if she hadn’t, she’d have noticed the way he kept stealing glances at her from behind his textbook)

 

_3._

 

The second time, she learns his name.

(which is good, because up until now she’s been referring to him as ‘The Boy’, which is hardly fitting for a potential best friend)

It’s rather funny, actually, because Jemma doesn’t believe in fate, or destiny, but she does believe it’s a rather promising sign when she receives a letter from the post office labelled Leopold Fitzsimmons, citing the Academy’s address but a smudged dorm number that looks suspiciously like a #29 at first sight. Upon further inspection she discovers that it says #38 instead.

So off she pops on a Sunday morning off, letter clutched in her hands and a bag full of books slung over her shoulder as she wanders the building for the right dorm number, until -

“Yeah?” A reedy looking guy frowns suspiciously at her from the open door, and she smiles brightly and holds out the letter.

“I don’t suppose you’re Leopold Fitzsimmons? I think I’ve been delivered the wrong piece of mail, you see, the dorm number’s smudged and my last name is Si - “

“Fitz!” shouts the man, looking bored as he opens the door wider and promptly wanders back into the apartment. “Someone here for you!”

Jemma’s barrelled with surprise when none other than her Scottish Subject appears at the front door. His eyes widen when he sees her, and he blushes faintly, which prompts her to notice that he’s clad in monkey pyjamas, a fact that simultaneously makes her want to smile and raise her eyebrows at the same time.

Instead, she waves the envelope at him. “Hullo! Jemma Simmons, Dorm #29. I’m assuming you’re Leopold Fitzsimmons? You see, I’ve been mailed something incorrectly and..”

“Fitz.”

She blinks. “Sorry?”

Oh dear, he looks rather embarrassed now, “That’s my name. Fitz. Leopold Fitz, I guess, but, uh..”

“Oh!” Jemma’s face relaxes into a comfortable expression, and she’s suddenly immensely happy that this boy - no, Fitz, his name is - is actually talking to her for once, albeit looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Isn’t that funny? They must have mixed our names up. I’m expecting a parcel too. Really, the post-service over here is atrocious.”

She’s beaming at him, waiting for a rise about the American post service that’s inevitable, but instead Fitz nods, awkwardly grabs the parcel and murmurs a ‘thanks’.

On the second attempt, Jemma is left staring at a closed door, oddly disappointed (but not undeterred).

 

_4._

 

The third time, she’s (rather worryingly), devoted to the cause. Perhaps it’s the scientist in her that drives this, but she almost treats it as a scientific theory of some sort, an experiment with, hopefully, a happy outcome.

So she takes to sneaking peeks at him during the many classes they seem to share, spends a concerning amount of time debating on how best to approach the grouchy Mr. Fitz. She finds out the little things, that don’t seemingly matter on the surface, but when examined by Jemma, turn out to be little tid-bits into Leopold Fitz’s life. For instance, she finds that he doodles in his books a lot; detailed, beautiful sketches in pen and pencil and anything he can place his hands out. His clothes are a little too big, his hair makes her want to sit him down and run a comb through it, and he doesn’t have a routine as far as she can tell. Except, every day at around lunchtime, when he’ll grab the very last prosciutto and mozzarella buffalo sandwich. She pinches it sometimes, even though she thinks it tastes a little dry and could do with a little dash of aioli, but it’s worth it to see Fitz grumble to himself. She notices that he’s especially grumpy on those days.

“What do you think of him?” Jemma asks Eliza Mitchell one afternoon during Neurobiology. Eliza Mitchell is friendly and clever and fun, but she can’t keep up with Jemma, she’s not _best friend_ material, and she’s a few years older, so she doesn't tick all the right boxes.

“Who? That Fitz guy?” Eliza shrugs. “Don’t know. I haven’t talked to him much. He keeps to himself. Hey - come help me with this, Simmons.”

“He seems alright though, doesn’t he?” Jemma muses, lost in thought. “Isn’t he lonely? I’ve never seen him with anyone.”

“Some people are just like that, though. All I know about him is that he’s dead clever. One of the youngest students to pass through here - though I guess you’d know all about that. How about a hand here, Simmons?”

“Mmm, yes. Do you think he’d talk to me if I approached him? Maybe I should try it. You know, I really think we’d get along..”

“Simmons! A little _help_ would be nice!”

After neurobiology, which went with admittedly a few hiccups, Jemma makes up her mind right there and then, and she hugs her books to her chest and approaches Fitz with her sunniest smile. He’s packing up his things, tongue poked between his teeth as he concentrates.

“Hi Fitz. I’m not sure if you remember me, Jemma Simmons,” she says, and oh no, this was a horrible idea, because Fitz has lurched in surprise and now her palms are starting to get clammy. “Um, anyway, I was just wondering if that parcel was for you after all? Was everything packaged alright? I didn’t break anything, I hope.”

Fitz blinks for a few moments, and then nods and alternatively shakes his head, like he’s unsure which is which. “Yeah. No! I mean.. the package was fine. From my mum. Um. Thanks. For getting it to me.”

“Oh, it was no problem.” But secretly, she’s pleased. “So, I was.. Well, I was wondering if you wanted to..”

“Fitz, man!” A head pops around the door, and Jemma recognises the thin guy from Dorm #38. “Can you come up to the dorm with me? I’ve lost my keys.”

“Yeah, sure.” Fitz nods too quickly, and he glances at her without ever meeting her eyes. “Sorry. Nice meeting you..”

“Simmons. Jemma.” She winces. “Um.. Simmons.”

“Right. Bye.”

And it’s like a kick to the gut when she realises that Fitz is _relieved_ as he scrambles away from her and out of the room.

 

_5._

 

The fifth time she stops trying, because despite their past encounters, Fitz doesn’t give her any notice in hallways, walks a little faster when she smiles at him, and, as ever, sticks to himself. She’s starting to wonder whether he’s always like this, or whether it’s just _her_.

Maybe she’s been too pushy, or too positive, or too insistent, and this bugs her for over a week, and soon she’s got bags under her eyes from sleepless nights of re-evaluating herself.

Okay, so maybe she _hasn’t_ stopped trying. Eventually, she asks Eliza Mitchell again, who’s all too happy to chat Jemma’s ears off.

“Do you think I’m too enthusiastic?” she questions, hands curled up into anxious fists.

Eliza stares at her. “Enthusiastic? Not _really_. I mean, you do kind of get over-excited about science, but we’re all nerds here, so that’s okay.”

Jemma frowns. “Um.. okay. I just meant.. um, is there something unlike-able about me?”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Eliza shrugs, “You’re friendly, you’re pretty, I’m sure you’d fit in if you’d…” She trails off, eyes wide like she’s just spilled a secret, and suddenly she scoops up her book and runs off.

Undeterred, Jemma chases after her. “What? If I’d…? _Mitchell!_ ”

“If you weren’t so clever, and so young,” Eliza relents finally. “I’m sorry, Simmons, but people are jealous of you. You’re just a _kid_ , and you’re working at higher levels than most of us. You and that Fitz guy. The only reason you have any friends is because you’re actually approachable.”

Well, that’s a bit cruel, Jemma considers. She thinks for a pause, eyes flickering subconsciously to the empty seat that Fitz normally takes. (Un)fortunately, he’s away today.

“Surely.. if we were the same age.. we’d be inclined to become friends, right?”

Eliza follows her gaze and promptly scoffs and rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Simmons, you can’t seriously be still on that. He’s just antisocial, and I doubt _you’re_ going to be the one to bring him out of his shell.”

“I think I can,” Jemma says quietly, but Eliza’s already left the room, leaving Jemma to huff and ponder and wonder whether Eliza’s telling the truth, or if she’s just simply a terrible friend.

 

+1

 

It turns out she doesn’t have to try, because a mere few days later the Professor gets a brilliant idea to randomly pair students up for chem-lab. Jemma holds her breath and wishes fervently _not-that-creepy-guy-who’s-staring-at-her, not-that-creepy-guy-who’s-staring-at-her_.

“Ew,” Eliza Mitchells says from beside her, pulling a face so full of disgust Jemma almost feels the urge to laugh, “I’ve got Jefferson. Ugh, that is _so_ not fair…”

But Jemma isn’t listening, because suddenly a stone has lodged in her stomach, because up on the projector in black arial font are the words _Leopold Fitz & Jemma Simmons._

Eliza moves away with a grumble, and it’s with an excited air that Jemma moves her stuff to one side of the workbench and shifts her stool to the side to make room for Fitz. The man himself appears a moment later, looking as awkward as ever as he settles down into the seat next to her.

“Hullo,” she tells him.

“Hi,” he says.

As the Professor calls for all stations to start their work, Fitz and Jemma are left the only ones staring awkwardly at each other.

“Um, well, I’m Jemma Simmons,” she starts lightly.

“I know!” Fitz interrupts, and they both wince.

“Oh. You do?”

“No, I just..” Oh lord, he looks incredibly embarrassed now. “Um, your name was up on the roster and we’ve met before and, uh..”

“Yes, of course!” Jemma says, a pitch higher than she should be. “Right. Yes. Good. Shall we get started?”

“Yeah.” Fitz nods and that’s how it begins, sneaking glances at each other while they’re working, apologising heavily whenever one has to reach over the other to grab something, awkward silences filling the empty space. She notices that he keeps his things strictly on his side, careful to separate their things (later, when they’re friends, their things spread and spill and mingle until they’re not even sure which is who’s anymore).

Eventually, she points to a clear bag, slightly nervously. “So, I’ve developed a system over the last few days, colours and letters correlating into bags, so B is for Blue is for…”

“Biological,” Fitz cuts in, and Jemma’s left to stare at him, wide-eyed.

“Um.. yes. How did you..”

“It was kind of obvious,” Fitz says, but he’s blushing and she’s almost positive that he’s lying. When she stares at him a little more, he turns a few degrees darker and ducks his head. “Uh, also, I might’ve seen you. A few times. Organising, I mean. Not that I was staring or anything, it was just you were kinda there and I was bored and you just… and… this isn’t going very well, is it?”

No, it isn’t, but the thought that Fitz has actually been taking notice of her and the way he’s delivered his explanation is enough to make her laugh.

“I think you’re doing fine, Fitz.”

He grins at her in that boyish way she’ll come to love, and she thinks that _maybe_ , there might be something here after all.

(ten years, another planet and a dinner date later, that fact holds true)


End file.
